Two weeks short of twelve years, with two kids, a house, and all the other stereotypical suburban essentials under our belt, Really Big Guy and I are happily muddling through.  But remember the movie "Parenthood?"  It's a rollercoaster.

The fact is that when you live with someone for a while, for better or worse takes on a whole new meaning.  And while there are varying degrees of worse, it’s amazing how the small, irritating matters can grate on your nerves and be even more challenging than the truly traumatic situations.

The brainless act of not putting the cap on the toothpaste. The toilet seat up instead of down.  Leaving one cookie in the box instead of just finishing it off.  The unconscious acts that take on a life of their own as the years pass.  

We haven’t even touched on the actual behaviors that drive us crazy.  Things like stubbornness.  Becoming easily frustrated.  Walking away in the middle of an argument.  Not that I’ve ever done that, of course.

As the years pass, we expect our irritating behaviors to continue to irritate. Most married people have learned that you cannot change someone.  And once the vows are taken, you have basically given your blessing of unconditional acceptance.  Regardless of flaws.   Remember, for better or worse.

What Really Big Guy and I didn’t count on was our children turning into little mini-me’s. Who somehow, through the magical combination of genetics and environment, have inherited some of these imperfect qualities.

I have these moments.  Moment when I realize I cannot deny my children as being my own.

When Big Guy’s doing his math homework and I realize he not only has inherited my eyes and my lips, but my easy temper.  When Little Guy is trying so hard to win a running race with his cul-de-sac friends and crumbles upon his defeat.  That would be my competitive nature.  At its worst.  When the kids resist a spontaneous weekend away, suggested by their spontaneous father, for they are more like me.  A planner.  A creature of habit.

As a parent, there is nothing more torturous than watching your child imitate your darkest defects. The qualities you wish you could change about yourself.  For me, it’s as if I am looking into a giant mirror.  The Mirror of Flaws.  Instead of looking good, I look bad.  Really bad.  For with this mirror, the reflection staring back is not so flattering.  It’s one where all my shortcomings are crystal clear.  

Once I get a good look in the mirror, all my premier parenting skills surface. In an effort to do damage control, I become calm, rational and smart all at once.  It’s a call to action where I run interference, trying to negate the situation.  For I have seen the future.  It’s staring back at me.  

The Mirror of Flaws serves as a reminder.  A reminder that what I pass on to my children, both good and bad, will make up my legacy.   The good is easy.  It takes care of itself.  As for the bad?  The best I can do is recognize the flaws within myself and try to help my kids benefit from my experience.  

And perhaps, in the way, far off future, when my boys are men, they’ll have a bit of compassion. As they listen to their wives complain about their sometimes stubborn, temperamental, un-spontaneous behavior, they can simply blame it on their father and me.  

That is, until they have kids. Then, they’ll have to take a good look in the mirror.

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.